


the things we grew without.

by orphan_account



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Agoraphobia, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Parenting, Breaking the Cycle of Abuse, Children of Characters, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Insecurity, Married Couple, Medical Inaccuracies, Mental Anguish, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Paranoia, Pregnancy, Psychological Trauma, Recovery, Therapy, Trans Kyle Broflovski, Trans Male Character, True Love, Why isn't that a tag?, basically kyles no good horrible very bad series of days, i don't like kyle's parents. no you cannot make me, i dont know i hate tagging fics, i'm like....obsessed w him, kenny is a good husband and thats that, kyle-centric, probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:42:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23923267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Kyle falls to his knees, his books clattering to the floor.The first thing he thinks, distantly, is that the floor hitting his knees hurts.The second thing he thinks is that he can’t breathe.
Relationships: Kyle Broflovski/Kenny McCormick, Stan Marsh/Leopold "Butters" Stotch
Comments: 16
Kudos: 61





	the things we grew without.

“Your father and I expect great things from you, you know!”

Kyle falls to his knees, his books clattering to the floor.

The first thing he thinks, distantly, is that the floor hitting his knees hurts.

The second thing he thinks is that he can’t breathe.

“What was that sound? Is something wrong?”

He throws his phone.  _ Throws  _ it. He can’t hear her right now.

_ Great things. Your father and I. Great things! _

He froze up in his lecture last class. What great things is  _ he  _ capable of? None. Nothing. 

He’s becoming less aware of the passing students stalling to watch him, and more aware of his shaking body. He thinks he may be dying. He claws his nails into his arms. They start to bleed. He can’t feel it.  _ Hecan’tfeelit. _

Maybe that’s it; he needs to stop feeling. Stop thinking. Stop being a pussy. Grow up.  _ Growupgrowupgrowup.  _ His heart hammers against his ribcage.

Tears hit the linoleum. His own, he supposes. Crying like a little bitch. Like a child. His entire body burns.

Somebody is kneeling in front of him. Somebody in a pink pencil skirt and crisp white button-up. Wendy. Wendy Testaburger, Stan’s childhood sweetheart, his friend. She’s talking, but it sounds like she’s in another room. She picks up his phone. Says something into it, hangs up.

“Kyle.” She says. Smart, talented, confident Wendy Testaburger.

Kyle screams.

  
  
  
  


Kenny hates flying.

There are so many ways one can die on a plane. There’s, of course, crashing. A pilot could lose control; sometimes planes hit the ground even when a pilot  _ is  _ in control. Then, there’s unexpected medical emergencies. With Kenny, there’s all sorts of possibilities; he wouldn’t be surprised if he ended up out on a wing, or in a turbine, or in the cargo. Misfortune works in mysterious ways.

He’s only ever flown once before, to see Kyle off. Ridiculous, Kyle said, to fly him there just to fly back. But Kenny wanted to see his face, when he saw his dream school’s campus, right in front of him. He wanted to be there. On the plane ride, Kyle had held his hand, promising him he wouldn’t die. 

His good luck charm.

His good luck charm who he had to see, right now.

Wendy had called him about six hours ago. Kyle had had what she could only describe as a meltdown after his mother called him. That’s all she knew. They ended up calling an ambulance for him when he became essentially unresponsive, and by the time Wendy stole away to call Kenny, he’d been admitted for two hours.

Kenny had started packing essentials the moment she said ‘hospitalization’.

A flight from Colorado to Connecticut takes about three hours and fifty six minutes. Then there’s somehow getting a ticket, driving to and from the airports, security on both sides, and the possibility of weather delays.

Every second feels like a millennium.

There were no weather delays, and Kenny somehow managed to get a ticket day-of. For once, luck was on his side, but he had no time to appreciate this. 

When he steps into the waiting room, Wendy is still there, hands clasped tightly in her lap.

“Wends,” He gasps.

“Kenny!” She stands, and before he knows it, he’s being hugged.

“Did you-”

“I told them what I knew. They haven’t told me much. I’m not family. He’s up and about, I think. I haven’t tried going in.”

“Why not?”

She pulls back. “When I tried to touch him earlier, when... _ it  _ happened, he  _ screamed _ . I’d never heard him make a sound like that. I’d never heard  _ anybody  _ sound like that. I don’t know if it was me or...whatever his mother said.”

Kenny squeezes her shoulders. “I’d love to catch up-”

“No, I know. Go see him.”

Kenny leaves her there.

  
  
  


He finds Kyle sitting in the hospital bed, knees pulled up to his chest, fingers steepled on top of them. He isn’t looking at him. He looks like a little kid.

“Kyle.”

He flinches and turns to look at him. His face crumples from fear to almost desperation. “Kenny,” He croaks, holding his arms out.

Kenny leans over so he can hold him. The sound of him sobbing into his shoulder tears him apart. He tries not to squeeze too hard, stroking his hair.

“What happened, firefly? What’s going on?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know what’s happening anymore. I don’t…”

“Shh, shh. Breathe, Ky.”

“Oh my god, did you come all the way here for me? Oh my god. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” He presses his nose against Kyle’s temple. “It’s nothing. I’d go anywhere for you, Kyle. Don’t even worry about it.”

Kyle whines pitifully. He  _ whines.  _

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Not yet. Just hold me.”

And Kenny does, letting him cry. He trembles in his arms. It’s heartbreaking, to see the determined, spirited man he fell in love with fall apart.

“What can I do for you, Kyle?” He whispers.

“Take me home.” Kyle whispers back.

And Kenny does.

  
  
  


Fear.

Fear is what Kyle knew. 

Ever since that day in Connecticut, when his brain went blank and his body turned against him, Kyle had greeted the dread and anxiety that hung around him like an old friend; the kind of old friend you knew too long to have any hope to detach yourself from. 

The anxiety post  _ breakdown  _ was similar to his anxiety before, but ever detached, ever heightened. Pre breakdown, Kyle was typically on edge; his anxiety often reared its ugly head in the form of frustration, snappy remarks and a fuse waiting to be set off, the reactivity he had become so well known for. He panicked over normal things and trivial ones; anyone could get overwhelmed, anyone could reach their limit.

But  _ post  _ breakdown, Kyle’s limit had seemingly lowered.

The days immediately after Kenny brought him home, having to guide him like a helpless child through the airports, unable to veil his concern as Kyle buried his head in his knees for the car ride, he had felt as if the entire world had shifted, everything was too bright, too loud, too  _ much.  _ Kenny asked him what he wanted to eat that morning, and the pressure -  _ waffles? pancakes? omelets? just eggs? -  _ the choices, the thoughts that followed -  _ what if he judges your choice? you don’t want kenny to see you as a fat pig. and you should pick something kosher. what if your mother finds out? what if your mother is judging you? she is. of course she is. what if kenny already sees you as disgusting? what if - _ made his knees buckle, dragged a wail he didn’t know he could make out of him, and Kenny held him against his chest and soothed him until he felt as is he could understand what normal people should act like again.

(They had omelets. Kyle could barely taste them.)

Kenny’s patience served to comfort and sicken him equally. How could he ever love Kyle again, after this, after he behaved like little more than an invalid, after he was changed so irreparably by his own incompetence?

(FUBAR.)

But when Kenny tried to take him in for  _ professional help,  _ Kyle’s sheer humiliation made him wish he could continue on with Kenny’s help alone, burning under the gaze of the psychiatrist - this woman was not only judging him; it was her  _ job  _ to do so.

A  _ mental health crisis.  _ That is what Dr. Rowell called it. Her professional opinion was that Kyle be admitted to a short-term stay in a residential treatment facility. She theorized his break occurred from an underlying anxiety disorder gone unchecked.

(Kyle himself could have told her that.)

Of course, logically, Kyle saw the merit in this plan. The versions of himself in his head sunk their claws into it.

The old Kyle, the future lawyer with a sharp tongue, agreed wholeheartedly.  _ You can focus on your recovery, and we can get back on track. You don’t want Kenny to take care of you forever, do you? You’re better than that. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and we can do what we were supposed to do. _

But the other Kyle, this one, wearing one of Kenny’s shirts and leggings and forcing himself to take every step, got into the car with Kenny and immediately begged him not to send him away, don’t,  _ please don’t leave me alone.  _

And Kenny would never, ever force Kyle into anything he didn’t want to do, instead pulling to the side of the road and unbuckling the both of them, scooping his husband into his lap to pet his hair and soothe him.

_ (I won’t, firefly. I won’t make you do anything. I love you. I love you so, so much.) _

And so they went home, and tried to deal with it on their own. Kenny knew he shouldn’t let Kyle avoid treatment, but the idea of forcing him into anything left a pit in his stomach. He figured he knew Kyle inside and out, was a budding psychologist himself - surely, he could help him, save his angel from what was hurting him.

Kyle was what he was; a danger to himself more so than others. The worst of it came in bursts, when the simple reminder of the outside world became far too much to bear. He craved a safe space in the chaos, and only seemed to find it nestled in Kenny’s arms.

But Kenny could not let him off without  _ any  _ treatment. Dr. Rowell prescribed medications, and Kenny attempted to suggest mindfulness exercises.

(Kyle wasn’t sure where his mind even was.)

There were good days and bad days. On good days, Kyle listed the pros and cons of existence and came up with more than  _ People would miss me if I died  _ and  _ Kenny  _ for pros. On bad days, he cried when he did anything he could possibly perceive as  _ wrong,  _ locked himself in bathrooms and closets, and waited for the world to end.

Sometimes people visited. Or, attempted to. The first time Kyle came downstairs and saw Stan sitting on the couch, he ran back up and hid, humiliated by the idea of being seen  _ like this. _

He could hear them through the door.

“Shit. I think that was Ky.”

“Oh, really? I wanted to check on him.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know. Maybe you should come back another time.”

The idea of leaving the house felt like a  _ gargantuan  _ task; everyone’s eyes on Kyle, seeing how terribly he failed, how useless he truly was. He couldn’t even bring himself to talk to anyone but Kenny.

This bothered his mother the most. Within a month of Kyle’s breakdown, Sheila expected him to get back on track. When she appeared at the door, Kenny sternly told her Kyle was not accepting visitors just yet.

“You can’t keep me from seeing my own son!”

“Kyle’s a grown man. And he wants to be left alone.”

“He has an education-”

“He dropped out,” Kenny said simply, slamming the door in her face before rushing to comfort Kyle, finding him hiding under the kitchen table.

The next time Stan came back, he just came to the door. Butters had sent him with a care package from everyone. Kyle listened from the top of the stairs, wearing one of Kenny’s shirts like a dress, balling up the ends in his fists again and again. 

“Is Kyle awake?”

“Yeah, he is. But...I don’t think now’s a good time.”

Kyle peeked out just slightly, seeing Stan’s dejected reaction. He nearly sobbed at the sight, because it was true; now  _ wasn’t _ a good time.

(When was it ever going to be?)

When Stan left, Kenny laid out a blanket on the floor and made Kyle an indoor picnic they could nibble on while going through their package.

“Alrighty,” Kenny hummed, opening the box with one hand and grasping Kyle’s with the other, brushing his lips against his knuckle. “We’ve got relaxation CDs from Heidi and Nichole, some movies from the Donovans….oh, Bebe sent a spa coupon. For two!”

“I’m not ready to go out,” Kyle muttered, chewing on his own thumb. 

“I know that, Ky, don’t worry. It won’t expire for a few months. Uhh, looks like we got some scented candles, bath stuff….oh.”

Kenny lifted a book out of the box, picking off a sticky note on the front. He passed it to Kyle, who quickly realized it to be a journal or sketchbook, confirming the later to be true when he opened it and ran a hand along the thick sheets of paper inside. In the front cover, a note was scrawled in Butters’ rounded handwriting.

_ hi, kyle!!! i thought you might like to draw a little in this! doodling always helps me relax. we’re all really worried about you, and i just want you to know you should take all the time you need. we love you! _

(The old Kyle would never cry at such a simple note.)

Kyle didn’t go back to school the next month, or the month after that, after explaining what happened and applying for a leave of absence. 

When he received the letter detailing the decision of his expulsion, Kenny was not home, and returned to find Kyle sobbing on the floor, the torn up letter surrounding him.

It was over. Everything he had worked for, his scholarship, was over. All of the sleepless nights in high school, all of the tears and strain and struggle, were for nothing.

It was... _ a lot. _

Kyle immediately decided he should sign up for online classes, if he wanted any chance at building his life back up, but the idea of deadlines and expectations and professors made him want to cry again, so Kenny gently suggested a gap year.

(Or two. Or three.)

So, when Kenny went back to his regular classes, Kyle mostly focused on chores around the house.

“I feel like your housewife,” He said to Kenny, standing in the doorway of their laundry room, holding a basket against his hip.

“You’re not even my househusband,” Kenny argued, cupping a hand under Kyle’s chin, his thumb on his lower lip. “I’m sorry. If you want, you can just leave the laundry, and I’ll fold it when I get home. How’s that?”

“Then I feel useless,” Kyle shot back. “Sitting around and doing nothing, while you’re in class like a normal person.”

“It’s okay if you sit around, Ky. And you  _ are  _ a normal person. Normal people have problems.”

Kyle wanted to argue normal people weren’t broken, but knew Kenny would argue against it, and simply kissed him goodbye.

When he wasn’t doing chores, Kyle was drawing. He’d never been one for art, but teaching himself was something to do. He found himself mostly sketching fruits, and people. 

“These are really good,” Kenny said, when Kyle slid the full sketchbook over for Kenny to flick through. “Is this me? You’re so talented, honey.”

The next day, Kenny came home with two more sketchbooks, new pencils, and a kneaded eraser. Kyle was excited enough to open it up and test it then and there, doodling Kenny with tiny hearts around him.

From there, he upgraded to paint and canvas, settling for still lifes and unrealistic landscapes, with pink skies and orange water and green clouds.

About four months after his breakdown, Kyle finally spoke to Stan again, inviting him and him alone. He reached his limit after only about two hours of his friend’s company, but simply answering the door and telling Stan how he was feeling was enough to make Dr. Rowell clap at their next appointment.

(Kyle still kept his eyes trained on the ground at Dr. Rowell’s office, but he went without trying to convince Kenny he was sick, so that’s saying something.)

When he went to visit his parents for the first time, Kenny went in first, leaving Kyle in the car, his knees pulled up to his chest. He came out in a huff, slamming the car door and making Kyle jump.

“I don’t want you going in there. I fucking don’t.” Kenny muttered, gripping the steering wheel for dear life, pressing his forehead against it.

“What did they say?”

“They said…” Kenny groaned, and Kyle scratched along his back comfortingly, keeping his cheek against his knee. “They wanted to know when you were gonna be back in school. I just fucking…”

Kyle looked away again, playing with the edge of his jacket. “I know I should go back.”

Kenny sat up, running a hand through his own hair. “When you’re ready. Not until you’re ready, Kyle. There’s nothing wrong with waiting.”

So Kyle kept waiting, and kept painting. They moved the filing cabinets out of his office and spent a whole weekend converting it into a studio.

“You’re more into this art thing than I thought you’d be!” Butters said, over the phone.

“I guess,” Kyle hummed. 

He started talking to people more often. He called people, and invited Ike over to assure him he was doing better, somewhat.

“I could go shopping with you,” He ventured, the next time Kenny was going for groceries.

“You sure about that?”

“It’s nearly been a year, Kenny. I should try.”

Shopping was hell. Kyle felt like everyone’s eyes were on him, and felt relief when Kenny squeezed his hand before taking the responsibility of making small talk with the cashier.

“Everyone was judging me in there,” Kyle complained when they got in the car. “I could feel everyone’s eyes on me. They know-”

“They don’t know anything, Ky. You’re okay.”

“I’m not okay!” Kyle wailed, smacking the inside of the window. “I’ll never be okay  _ again _ !”

Kenny held him, right there in their car in the Whole Foods parking lot.

Kyle adjusted to it, albeit slowly. He hated going outside. He never really got over it. It felt like everyone knew how terribly he had failed, and were laughing at him behind his back.

“I know I’m being paranoid,” He told Dr. Rowell. “But it won’t stop. It never stops.”

He started posting his art online. Heidi and Kenny told him he had a natural talent, something that made him blush and shake his head.

Until something strange happened.

“Somebody wants to buy one of my pieces,” He said one day, sounding dumbfounded.

“What? Really?” Kenny had been making dinner, and stopped to crowd around Kyle’s shoulder, looking at his phone.

“They said they want a Broflovski original.”

Kyle started taking commissions after that, something that delighted him. He was stunned at how much people were willing to pay for his art, and finally felt like he was providing back for Kenny and himself, instead of just mooching off his husband and their savings (something Kenny insisted Kyle couldn’t do).

About a year and a half into his newfound career, he and Kenny were invited to a gallery opening.

“They want to display some of my landscapes. You know, the rainbow ones.” Kyle said, anxiously chewing on his nail, “It’s an auction, and they’re looking for local artists.”

“Do you want to go?” Kenny asked. They were sitting on their couch, watching some TV premiere when Kyle got his phone call. “Auctions are a lot.”

“I went shopping by myself last week. Surely I can handle an art gallery with you.”

“I’m sure you can, angel.”

The art gallery went off without any relative hitches. Kyle mostly stuck by Kenny, like he usually did, but managed to mingle.

Of course, when he was called over to answer questions about his collection, things went downhill.

_ What art do you most identify with? Explain your process. What themes do you pursue? What inspired this piece? How long have you been an artist?  _

It didn’t take long for Kyle to politely excuse himself, when his throat started closing up and chest felt tight, scrambling away to latch onto Kenny at the refreshments table.

“Hey, beautiful. What’s up?”

“Home. Now.”

They were caught by the door by the gallery owner, and Kyle tried to block out Kenny explaining that they had prior arrangements, a previously prepared excuse. He tried to block out everything, from the man’s voice to the soft music from inside.

When they got home, Kyle immediately took a seat at the kitchen table, his head in his hands. 

“What happened, honey?” Kenny asked, kneeling next to Kyle’s chair, his hand running up and down the curve of his spine. “I thought things were going well.”

“They  _ were-”  _ Kyle groaned, his face buried in his hands, “-until I had to answer a single goddamn question. I’m useless, Kenny. Absolutely useless.”

“No! You’re not useless. You’re healing!”

“After a  _ year?! _ ” Kyle shouted, making Kenny jump. “A  _ fucking year?! _ ”

“Yes, a fucking year! There’s no time limit on what happened to you, Kyle.”

“I’m supposed to be making progress! I’m supposed - I’m supposed to be getting better, but I’m not, I’m just - _ uselessly  _ sitting here. You have an education, Ken, a job, and I’m just me, your stupid little mentally damaged housewife.”

Kyle was surprised when Kenny stood and lifted him into a hug, one hand gently pressing Kyle’s head against his chest. 

“Ken-?”

“Stop. Stop,” He said, his tone stern, burying his face in Kyle’s hair. “Stop saying that. It’s not true, any of it. Never fucking talk about yourself like that.”

Kyle felt tears well up in his eyes, uselessly pushing against Kenny’s chest. “But it  _ is  _ true-!”

“ _ Stop it.  _ It’s not. You’re not stupid, or damaged, or a housewife. When this first happened, you couldn’t even leave our house, Ky. You went to an  _ auction of your own art  _ today. You have a job, Ky, your stuff sells for more than my goddamn paycheck ever is. You’re amazing, you’re strong, you’re talented, and you are  _ getting better.  _ I never wanna hear you sell yourself short like that  _ again.  _ Do you understand me? I love you. I love you so much.”

Kyle craned his head back, and Kenny wiped at his tears. In the moment, something suddenly came to him.

“We should have a baby,” Kyle blurted out.

Kenny made a sputtering sound, raising his eyebrows at Kyle pointedly. “Uhh, what?”

“Why not? I mean, imagine it. Creating life, together? I could go off T, and carry it myself, it-”

“Kyle. Slow down.”

“What? You don’t want to?”

Kenny sighed, sitting Kyle down and resuming his kneeling, clasping their hands together between them. “Of course I want to. I’ve always wanted a family, especially with  _ you.  _ But, I don’t exactly want to have children when you’re still obviously in recovery. You’d seriously want to carry it?”

“If I can. I don’t see why not. I’d...I’d want them to be  _ our  _ kid, so I wouldn’t want to go for surrogacy or adoption.”

Kenny looked thoughtful, pressing his lips to Kyle’s hands, then pulling back. “How about...in a few years, if you still want this. We can try then.”

Kyle beamed down at him. “Really? You mean it?”

“Of course I mean it. But I don’t want our children to be a hasty decision at three in the morning, yeah?”

Kyle kissed him, smiling brighter than he had all day. “Our  _ baby. _ ”

And, suddenly, Kyle had a new creation to look forward to.

They had their first child two years after that.

In between, they bought a real house - a  _ home.  _ They converted the shed out back into a studio for Kyle.

“We’ll need at least two bedrooms,” Kenny said, as they scrolled through sites, snuggled up next to each other. “Right?”

Kyle looked up at him, eyes impossibly wide. “You don’t mean….?”

“But I  _ do  _ mean.”

So the other bedroom became a nursery, painted in a neutral orange, because Kenny let Kyle decide the color and orange reminded him of Kenny.

Kyle, did, indeed, go off his hormone replacement therapy, after a lengthy discussion with his practitioner - he was, in fact, perfectly capable of getting pregnant while taking testerone, but it could cause birth defects to his fetus, and Kyle didn’t want to take any risks. 

“You’re relatively young,” His doctor told him. “And you’ve only been on HRT since you graduated high school. Your eggs are still perfectly normal, so you could absolutely attempt to conceive.”

His periods started up again within the next three months, and within the next five, he was checking nearly obsessively, charting his ovulation with one of those stupid little tracker apps and trying weird fertility diets.

There would be no room for mistakes.

This was Kyle’s line of thinking, as he laid all four tests out on a paper towel. No room for false positives, no room for mistaken symptoms, no room for disappointment.

(Would it be disappointment?)

Of course. It had been every other time. He wanted this.  _ They _ wanted this.  _ He _ suggested it. Excitement, it had to be, was what made his stomach lurch when he counted back on his fingers the last time he’d had his period after those started up again when he went off his HRT for this, excitement, when the last few weeks had him waking up to heave while Kenny rubbed his back.

He wanted a baby. He did. 

(He did, he did, he did.)

That wasn’t something Kyle would deny. Ever since the thought entered his head, grasping Kenny’s hands in the moonlight streaming through their kitchen window, he’d felt pangs at commercials and shows and their cookie cutter families with perfect little babies, at the mere idea of having that perfect life, with  _ his _ Kenny, with whoever the two of them had created.  _ Because any life with Kenny would be perfect. _

But fuck, it was scary, wasn’t it?

What if he couldn’t do it? What if he didn’t love them? What if he was his Mom? What if he and Kenny’s parenting styles were incompatible? What if pregnancy was too hard on him, on them, if childbirth was out of the question, if-

What if he  _ miscarried? _

The thoughts curled in the pit of his stomach, heavy and dark smoke clouds filling his lungs with ash. He wanted to just fail. Just get it over with. Buckle under the pressure now, before he lost himself when it was far too late.

He glanced down.

Positive, positive, positive, positive.

Eight lines in all.

No room for doubt.

Kyle waited for panic, for alarm bells, for his throat to close up around its own scream, to melt into the ground and die.

Instead, he practically burst with joy.

They did it. Fuck everything else.  _ They did it.  _ He and Kenny were  _ making  _ an entire person, and they were going to be great, and so was whoever that person would be. 

Kenny.

Kyle ran back to the bedroom, digging his phone out of his bag. He frantically texted his husband.

_ Come home NOW. Urgent family emergency. _

Oh, that kind of sounded like Kyle was in danger. Had to fix that.

_ xoxo _

Perfect.

Three dots popped up.  _ what happened??? im omw  _

_ I’ll tell you when you get here. I need you. _

Was it selfish, to beg Kenny to rush home from class? Probably. Education was important. But, hey, so was his being pregnant.

That word was a shock. Pregnant. 

They had planned this. The hard work would pay off. They’d -

They’d have a  _ family _ .

  
  


Kenny was only about thirty minutes away from home, and rushed inside. He spotted Kyle sitting at the kitchen table, and when he waved, ran over to him and hugged him.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“Kenn-”

Kenny pulled back, checking Kyle over, jerking his arms a little. “Are you hurt? Did you hurt  _ yourself?”  _

“I’m okay, Kenny. Better than okay. I just needed you home.” Guilt settled where the smoke in his stomach resided.

“You...I love you, firefly, but you can’t just...I thought…” Kenny doesn’t continue, but Kyle knows what he’s thinking. He kneels on the floor between Kyle’s legs, letting go of his arms.

“I know. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking about...before.” He lays his hands on Kenny’s cheeks.

Kenny sighs but smiles. “You just scared me, sugar. Now, why’d you need me home so bad? Miss me that much?”

“Pfft. No. No, it...is  _ kind of  _ serious.”

“Tell me about it.”

“...I finally took a pregnancy test.”

“Oh!” Kenny’s eyebrows shot up.

“I just figured, I’m late, and I’m throwing up…”

“No, yeah, reasonable. What’d it say?”

“Well…” Kyle paused for dramatic effect. He couldn’t help himself. There was something so cute about the way Kenny’s eyes widened. “It was positive. And I took another one to check.”  _ Three others, but Kenny didn’t need to know that part. _

The blonde stared up at him. “...Are you serious?”

“Yes. I’m serious.”

Kenny broke into a smile, that signature goofy grin of his. “You’re not fucking with me?”

Kyle shook his head, grinning right back.

Kenny practically  _ shrieked,  _ throwing his arms around Kyle’s middle, pressing his cheek against his stomach. “I would so be squeezing you right now. Pretend I’m squeezing. It’s implied. Holy shit. We’re having a baby.”

“It’s happening.”

“We’re gonna be dads.”

“I love you.”

“I love  _ YOU.  _ Dude.”

Kyle scratched the top of Kenny’s head. He leaned up into it, nuzzling into his shirt. 

“I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

“It only took us two years.”

“No, I mean….” Kenny shrugged. “All of this. Back in high school, I thought you’d never like me back. And now…” He chuckled. “We’re pregnant.”

“Uh,  _ I’m _ pregnant.”

“I helped.”

Kyle snorted. “...I’m glad. That we’re doing this, I mean. The…”

“Being in love thing?”

Kyle laughed and pulled Kenny up to kiss him. They fit together perfectly, lips arms legs. 

They’re made for eachother.

“Yeah. The being in love thing.”

They hadn’t really told anybody else about their plans, keeping the nursery locked off, and invited Stan, Butters, and their siblings over a few weeks after they found out for ‘dinner’. Kyle sat a  _ What to expect when you’re expecting!  _ book on the coffee table, and really shouldn’t have been surprised when nobody noticed until Kenny loudly cleared his throat and forcefully set his can down.

“...Oh my GOD,” Karen cried, and Stan let out a squeaking noise that Kyle would refuse to let him live down.

Kevin and Karen practically tackled Kenny in a hug, while Ike started talking a mile a minute about being an uncle, Butters started excitedly congratulating them, and Stan started crying.

“It’s okay, you big lug,” Kyle laughed, petting his hair. “I’m the one having a baby.”

He adapted to his pregnancy a lot better than he thought he would; he’d honestly expected the entire affair to make him feel much more dysphoric, but the idea of his child overshadowed any thought of lost manhood he had. There was nothing glamorous about it; doctors appointments, swollen ankles, and Kenny showering him with affection were the staples of his pregnancy, and the last one was sort of a staple of just being married to Kenny McCormick.

Kyle wanted to keep the sex a surprise; Kenny kept making jokes about hosting a gender reveal party and making all the balloons purple, which just made Kyle throw a pillow at him.

Kyle still hated seeing his parents, but felt obligated to tell them about his pregnancy. He tuned his father out, and passively accepted the attention from his mother, asking him a thousand questions about how he was taking care of himself and if that was why they bought a house and blah blah blah. Mom things.

His parents never took any responsibility for his breakdown. Kyle never expected them to. 

Kenny continued his education while Kyle painted; he wanted to he a psychologist, something Kyle supported him wholeheartedly on.

Their baby was born on a cloudy afternoon in late May.

Kyle was not due for May, by any means; he was due to give birth in early June; within a few days, at most. So when Kenny, on the way to his final exam for his Philosophical Logic class, got a phone call from Kyle, he didn't think much of it.

“Hey,” Kyle said when he answered, his voice strained.

“How’s my favorite-”

“I’m having a baby.”

Kenny let it turn over in his head. “Uh, yeah. We are. I’m aware. I took part in that.”

“No, I-” He groaned in a mix of frustration and what sounds like pain. “I am having a baby  _ right fucking now.” _

“Oh.” Kenny paused. “Oh, shit!”

“YEAH, OH SHIT.”

“....Are you sure?”

He heard a deep sigh on the other end of the line and instinctively held his phone away from his ear.

“ _ YES I’M FUCKING SURE.” _

“Okay, okay- uh-” Kenny turned on his heel, back towards the parking lot. “Did you call…”

“There’s an ambulance on its way. I can’t drive.”

“I wouldn’t want you to, hot stuff,” He did a quick scan for where he parked. “Are you...okay?”

Kyle was quiet for a second, only breathing heavily. “Mostly, yes. I’m not...the contractions aren’t that...bad, I guess. Not yet. It hurts, but it’s...sporadic...I’m just kind of freaking out.”

“You and me both, babe. So you’re not in pain?”

“No, I totally am. I just feel like I have to piss.”

“Maybe you just have to piss.”

“ _ Kenneth. _ ”

“Okay, okay, I get it.”

“And my back hurts.”

“Okay.”

“How far are you, again?”

Kenny couldn’t help but chuckle, somewhat relieved Kyle’s nervousness was equal to his own. “Not far at all, sweetheart. I’ll be home in less than thirty.”

“I’ll be in the ambulance by then. Or the hospital, actually. Go there.”

“Be there in forty.”

“Kenny?”

“Are you going to scold me?”

“I love you. So, so much.”

He smiled. “I love you too, Kyle. Want me to stay on the phone?”

“Please.”

  
  
  
  


Kyle knew it wasn’t going to be like on television; no fast, dramatic scene with little blood and two beautiful people sharing a tender moment of bringing life into the world.

But this wait was  _ ridiculous _ .

“How long?” 

“What?” Kenny looked up from where he was intently focused on Kyle squeezing his hand. Before they finally got an epidural put in, he’d already made several crescent shaped indents in his skin.

“How long have we been here?”

Kenny checked his phone. “Five hours and thirty minutes. Ish. You fell asleep a few times. Why, you aren’t loving this?”

“I can’t feel anything, so.”

“Is that good?”

“It’s better than it was.” 

“That’s…good?”

“Who’s here? In the waiting room, I mean.”

“Your mom and Ike practically teleported in when I called them. No word on your dad.”

“Good.”

“Stan and Leo have been here a while now.”

“Yeah, Stan’s been texting me.”

“Heidi said she was gonna drop by. And Wends. And Nichole. Should I be worried?”

“All three of them are in committed relationships. With other women. And we are married.”

“I’m just teasing!”

Kyle rolled his eyes, and the two of them perked up as the door opened. A nurse entered - not the same one who had been with them, but a small woman with blonde hair in a short bob, pushed out of her face.

“Mrs….” She trailed off, glancing between the two of them. “Ah. I apologize. I thought...I thought there was a typo.  _ Mr.  _ Broflovski. I’m Carolyn.”

“Nice to meet you, Carolyn.” Kyle smiled at her, gently laying his hand on Kenny’s arm when he tensed.  _ Not a fight. She made a mistake. Calm down.  _ It’s a silent exchange they’d gotten used to these past months. 

Carolyn beamed at him, stepping forward. The tension left the room almost instantaneously. “Sorry for the sudden change. Jackson, your former nurse, had to go home due to family matters.”

“No biggie,” Kenny shrugged, and Kyle squeezed his arm. 

“Carolyn, if you don’t mind me asking, does this usually take this long?”

Carolyn let out a tittering laugh, checking the printout from the machine he was hooked up to. “Impatient?”

“Very,” Kenny answered, earning him another squeeze. Before Kyle could give his own reply, Carolyn cleared her throat.

“Well, it looks like you’re just patient enough, because it’s time to push.”

“Oh,” Kyle blinked, letting his hand fall to grab onto Kenny’s. “ _ Oh.” _

  
  
  


It took less than an hour, but feels like an eternity. 

Carolyn, still there, coaching  _ both  _ of them if anything, laid the baby on Kyle’s chest, allowing him to settle her in the crook of his elbow, wiping her down with a cloth.

Her.

Their daughter.

“Holy shit,” Kenny whispered, trying to angle himself as close as possible, trying to take every detail in. She was immediately the most beautiful baby he’d ever seen. She made grabby hands up at Kyle as she wailed, and he cooed down at her. 

“Oh, I know. I  _ know,  _ baby.  _ Hello. _ ”

Her hair looked brown, but that was always subject to change. Kenny briefly hoped he was carrying the gene for red hair. He probably was, based on his mother.

She scrunched up her face, and he fell in love.

“She’s perfect,” He heard Kyle choke out, and looked at him. He was crying, snotty and sobbing, his hair frizzier than it was when they got there and his face still red with effort. Kenny wasn’t sure when he started crying, too. 

“She’s perfect,” He echoed, leaning forward to kiss his cheek, then the top of their daughter’s head. Their  _ daughter. _

  
  


Once everything was said and done, they were sitting, Kyle on the bed with their little girl in his arms, and Kenny in a chair pulled up as close as he could get it.

“What about Stephanie?”

“Boring. Next.” 

“Why’s Stephanie boring?”

Kyle rolled his eyes, briefly making a kissy face at the baby in his arms. “She isn’t Stephanie.  _ Next.” _

“Carolyn.”

“We aren’t naming her after the nurse.”

“Karen.”

“We aren’t naming her after your sister.”

“K-”

“I don’t want to name her after anybody. She’s her own person. So, next.”

Kenny nodded, leaning up to look down at her with Kyle, head on his shoulder. “She’s gonna look like you.”

“And why do you say that?”

“Cos you’re prettier than me, and she’s pretty.”

“Are you trying to flirt with me?”

“Kinda.”

Kyle let his head rest on Kenny’s. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“And you,” He barely tightened his grip on the baby in his arms. “I love you so much.”

She made those grabby hands again. 

“I’ll do anything for you,” Kenny breathed, knowing he meant it, knowing he didn’t care how much he was going to suffer in the future, if only for her. He would sacrifice the world for Kyle; he’d sacrifice the universe for his baby girl.

He didn’t even know what he might do for the both of them.

“Harper,” Kyle said, startling him out of his thoughts. “Her name is Harper Jane.”

Kenny nodded. “Harper. Our Harper.”

Their Harper, forever and always.

  
  
  


Harper was a fussy baby, as it turned out.

Wendy was immediately convinced they were going to give the poor girl separation anxiety with how stingy Kyle was about people holding her, but it was simply because half the time, she immediately wailed until one of her parents had her again.

Obviously, Kyle and Kenny were the first ones to hold her. After that, Kyle insisted on either Stan or Ike, whoever wanted to go first, and since Stan was still a blubbering mess, it ended up being the 19-year-old, who had talked Sheila into letting him skip school for this.

“She looks like your baby pictures,” He said, excitedly, bouncing Harper in his arms just slightly.

“Oh, god,” Kyle groaned, and Kenny clapped.

They took her home the next day, Kyle trying to dodge his mother’s questions about if he’d be breastfeeding or using formula, or if they needed more diapers, which he figured would always be a  _ yes.  _

Kenny insisted on opening Kyle’s car door, and the front door as well, practically bouncing on his feet when he walked in front to hold it for him, bowing dramatically.

Kyle laughed, readjusting Harper in his arms.

“Welcome home, angel,” He murmured, kissing her nose as he stepped inside.

“How come you didn’t carry me over the threshold?” Kenny teased, coming up behind Kyle, chin on top of his head.

“You don’t weigh seven pounds,” Kyle replied dryly, but leaned back into his husband.

“Whatever,” Kenny huffed dramatically, swatting Kyle on the butt just to hear him yelp. “Take the princess to her castle. I’ll meet you two up there.”

Harper babbled agreeably, something that made both her fathers momentarily turn to mush, before Kyle carried her upstairs and laid her in her crib, keeping one hand on her head.

“You’re my angel,” He whispered to her. “And I’m going to do everything I can for you. You’re going to be amazing someday, Harpie, at whatever you do. I promise.”

Harper blinked up at him, clenching and unclenching her tiny fists, and Kyle blinked back his tears. He’d created this life, and he’d nurse her, protect her, show her the world was more than working yourself to the bone and dying at the end. 

He’d make sure she knew there was more out there; there were people who would love her, platonically or romantically, who would nurture her light instead of shaping it to fit their own vision.

Because Kyle certainly wasn’t going to be a lawyer like his parents wanted, or a doctor, or a politician.

He wanted to be an artist. He wanted to be Kenny’s husband. He wanted to be an  _ artistic visionary  _ or whatever else they called him. He wanted to be a friend.

He wanted to be Harper’s father.

And he wanted to give her everything he and Kenny never had.

Parents who accepted them, who nurtured them, who didn’t pressure or ignore or harass.

And when Kenny walked up behind him, kissing the back of his neck before laying his hand next to Harper, he felt he knew what it was.

_ Love. _

_ Pure, unrestricted, unadulterated, love. _

**Author's Note:**

> hello.
> 
> firstly, thank you to oswald and bev for beta'ing this. i love you both.
> 
> this fic is in fact a series of fics pertaining to one universe; parentpark, an au i made for both self-indulgent lovechildren of my favorite ships (with their own plots and angst!) and exploring how the canon kids could grow after their abuse from their parents. if it feels rambling and dramatically shifting in tone, that's because it...is. and i have some shit to say about it.
> 
> i feel like a lot of people interpret sheila broflovski in wildly different ways; some see her as a loving mother, some see her as somewhat overbearing but overall good, while i for one see her as the prime set-up of psychologically and emotionally abusive parent. something about the way she straight-up ignores how kyle and ike feel in favor of her agenda has always upset me at a personal level, especially kyle's outright fear of her in the movie. in all of my fics, kyle and ike grow up to deal with impossible standards from both parents, resulting in kyle's mental break in this from trying to meet their expectations of him. (but i think we can all agree gerald sucks. because he does. he just sucks.)
> 
> this is part of why i love k2; without going on a rant, i feel like kenny and stan represent a freedom kyle does not receive from his family, especially kenny; there is an obvious appeal of the heavily pressured star student falling head over heels for the redneck who simply wants him to do what makes him happy. i think they both put a lot of focus on their daughter knowing she's capable of anything she sets her mind to.
> 
> there are likely many medical inaccuracies in this; i did minimal research on kyle's ability to conceive and apologize for any issues. on another note, had i been kenny, i probably would have pushed harder for kyle to go into temporary inpatient care, but it seemed accurate for them to try to work it out from home. 
> 
> if there are any sort of religious/cultural inaccuracies in this i apologize for those as well; i don't know anything about being jewish and will never claim to, and while simply just not doing anything about it is perhaps a lazy direction, it was an easy direction. i seem to recall reading somewhere that things like baby showers and naming the child before birth was bad luck, but i have literally no idea if that's true and while i could have just googled it i decided to just...skitter around it. forgive me for any glaring issues.
> 
> that being said, i hope you enjoyed. this au is my baaaaby, just like harper. i have more in universe shorts for this, such as a fic pertaining to stutters and their adopted son nikolai, and a fic about the adopted creek twins stella and roman. (harper, nikolai, stella, and roman are actually the second gen main four...noticeably without a nazi! also, harp and niko are totally the next gen super best friends.) i could totally spruce them up and post them if people are interested. 
> 
> my other social medias are knifechvrch on tumblr and zomblet/mystewion on instagram. i love making friends, though i must make it clear i do not have any desire to talk to or debate with cartman apologists/shippers. i'm not sorry at all about that.
> 
> thank you for reading, and stan k2!


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